


My boy builds coffins

by Meero94



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5x12 spoilers, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post episode: s05e12, mention of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meero94/pseuds/Meero94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey is angry and heartbroken, Ian has no place else to go, and -somehow- <em> they always end up right where they started. </em></p><p> <strong> Spoilers for 5x12 </strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	My boy builds coffins

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at fixing that fuck up of a finale we got. It's unedited and a bit rushed, but I hope it's good all the same. Title inspired by a Florence and The Machine song that just so happened to be playing while I wrote this.
> 
> Written for the prompt "Things you said when you were crying".

Mickey hates to cry. It doesn’t matter who sees him or why it happens, he hates it anyway, remembers the harsh words his father said to him that one time he saw him crying. He recalls the disgusted expression with clarity and tries to bite back the tears but they keep coming anyway. He thinks back to a time where he’d have been far more ashamed by his tears and almost laughs. That time was before Ian Gallagher stormed through his life and left no stone unturned. Mickey both misses that  _before_ and is grateful he got out of it. 

He remembers the last time he saw Ian, a week back, and how indifferent the younger boy looked. How tired and  _final_ every word he said had sounded, and Mickey cringes at the memory. He had gone back to the Gallaghers’ that day, after getting rid of Sammi yet again, and shouted empty words at Ian’s window while drunk. He doesn’t remember half the things he said, doesn’t even want to, but he knows that he couldn’t show his face to Ian ever again in his life. Stupid fucking Ian and his stupid illness and his fucking green eyes drawing Mickey in. 

 _This is all his fault,_ Mickey thinks angrily and takes another swig of Whiskey. His wall is painted with bullet holes, the floor littered with empty bottles and cigarette ash. His brothers had taken one look at him a few days back then silently offered him their stash of weed, which is as close to being supportive as a Milkovich family member could be. Still, Mickey appreciated the gesture. 

He takes another drag of smoke now, his eyes no longer blurred but slightly burning. Who knew breakups were this messy? He couldn’t blame Mandy for taking off anymore, maybe he’d follow her too. Find himself a new town and a house that doesn’t reek of broken hopes and trampled memories. That’d be nice -not tripping over the ghost of Ian Gallagher everywhere he fucking went. 

Mickey is still mulling over the thought when his door bangs open and -of fucking course- Ian himself comes barging in. 

“I think I did something stupid,” Is the first thing Ian says to him after a week of radio silence. “I-I think I fucked up, Mick. I fucked it all up -following Monica, t-the drugs, you. I fucked it all up,” Ian repeats over and over, his eyes wild and an edge of hysteria to his words and Mickey’s heart drops to the floor because this is not fair. Mickey knows what this is, have seen Ian go through it before, he knows it’ll clear soon enough and that Ian would be leaving him yet again. Whatever episode or breakdown he's having would fade and when Ian retreats, Mickey will be left to handle his own screaming thoughts and broken heart. He considers telling Ian to fuck off for a moment, thinks of taking the easy way out and instantly hates himself for it because -together or not- this is  _Ian_. Mickey takes in a shaky breath and scoots over to the other side of the bed.

“You done fucked up alright, bitch,” Mickey says without meeting Ian’s eyes, he has to try twice to get his voice to work right. His hands are shaking and he grips the dirty comforter to still them. “Get the fuck over here. Get some sleep, but don’t expect me to cuddle you or some shit.”

“None of that,” Ian mumbles, a glimpse of a younger boy shining through. The one with fiery hair and nervous smiles that Mickey fell in love with. He loved that boy and he loves the man he has become too, it’s just a fucking shame that Ian doesn’t feel the same way. 

Ian takes off his shoes and jacket, his actions so familiar Mickey feels an ache deep in his chest. He walks over to the bed slowly, eyes hollow and fixed somewhere above Mickey’s head. He’s still trembling, his movement kind of jerky and Mickey wants to ask what he meant about the drugs but holds back. Asking and caring can only lead to one thing, and Mickey is not interested in getting slapped with his own feelings again.

“You did somethin’ stupid, Gallagher?” Mickey asks cautiously. There’s enough space between them to fit another person, and Ian is staring at the ceiling. “You ain’t gonna fucking die on me or somethin’ are you? I think that psycho sis of yours might have my head.”

“Sammi?” Ian frowns, clearly puzzled. 

“Debbie,” Mickey corrects with an eye roll but Ian looks even more confused. 

“No, nothin’ stupid, Mick.”

“Good. Stop calling me that.” Mickey orders. His skin crawls with the need to touch and comfort, and he hates it as much as he hates crying. If it wren’t for Ian he wouldn’t be feeling like he can’t breathe -and hell Mickey has never been to a beach, never even tried to swim in one before, but he’s sure that drowning feels a lot like this.

“I thought you liked it,” Ian mutters, all of a sudden looking young and hurt. His emotions change so fast that they give Mickey whiplash, but the dominant ones tonight seem to be hurt and sad. 

 _Good,_ Mickey thinks again then mentally kicks himself for it. 

“I know I made a mistake,” Ian says, not taking his gaze off of the wall. He sounds distant and subdued, like he’s standing fields away instead of lying right next to Mickey. “I knew it just after you left-”

“Got chased off by your  _other_ psycho sister you mean,” Mickey grumbles. 

“But what really drove it home I guess is what you said later that night,” Ian carries on as if Mickey hadn’t spoken, and suddenly he’s got all of Mickey’s attention. What the fuck did Mickey say that night? 

“You were shouting and obviously drunk,” Ian frowns to himself, hands playing with the hem of his shirt. Mickey notices with a sickened feeling that the shirt, tight across the shoulders, is actually his.  “A-and you were  _crying,_ Mickey. I only saw you cry at the hospital when they got me in... You said how you loved me, how you’ve done it all for me and would do it again. How unfair and stupid I was being, how I hated myself so much I couldn’t see the people who loved me anymore. Then you broke that window and left -Fiona is pissed about that by the way- and I stayed up all night thinking about what you said. Thinking you’re right, but also thinking Monica’s right. Kept wondering how could you both be right.” 

“You figured it out yet?” Mickey asks into the following silence. His heart is clenching in his chest, his eyes starting to burn again. He stares hard at the light bulb without blinking, remembers when his mom taught him the trick not to cry. 

“Nah but I know I was bein’ stupid though, you do love me. It’s just me who doesn’t.” Ian states with a shrug, the words so effortless you’d think he’s discussing his favorite drink. “I still don’t think I can be with you but maybe we can be this. Whatever the hell  _this_ is.” 

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes out, wiping a shaking hand down his face. “ _Fuck_.”

He could shout at Ian now. Kick him out, tell him this is not how shit works, that he can’t use Mickey this way and whenever he pleases. Mickey should say all that but he doesn’t, anyone else and he would be throwing punches. Instead it’s Ian and Mickey throws his head back to rest against the wall, closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” He says, lighting yet another cigarette. 

“Hell is that supposed to mean?” Ian asks, his lips twitching and Mickey hates that he doesn’t have to look to know it.

“Just sleep, Ian. Just fucking sleep. We’ll figure shit out tomorrow -or not. Either way you need to rest and I need you to shut the fuck up.”

Ian nods once, expression thoughtful and far less panicked than when he first came in. “Thanks, Mick.” He says, reaches over and squeezes Mickey’s hand once.

Mickey’s skin burns but he nods, throat tightening. Hours pass and Ian falls asleep by his side, he moves closer during the night and drapes an arm over Mickey, breathes against his neck. He doesn’t wake up when Mickey kisses his forehead or when he brushes red hair back from the boy’s face. 

Ian sleeps through the night and well into the morning, and by the time the sun rises there’s a new pile of ashes and cigarettes on the floor. Mickey and Ian are curled around each other on the bed, asleep and bathed in soft light like the picture of an old sad painting, neither of them knowing what wakefulness will bring but safe in each other’s arms for the moment. The way they have always been.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you guys think? Did you like it or hate it? I left the ending that way so you guys can decide what happens next. Please let me know what you thought, and you're welcome to come cry with in the comments or on sulkybbarnes on tumblr.
> 
> Comments/kudos are most appreciated <3


End file.
